Strongbow
Ah, lovely cider. It's my go-to drink, and often it's ultimately my downfall too. Starting around this time last year, I was going through a tonne of the stuff.

I had just broken up with a girlfriend I'd been with for almost an entire year. She was awful - 20 by the time our relationship was over, she was more childish than anyone I've probably ever met in my life up to that point. I wasn't happy for a long time, and to be fair neither was she, so I finally broke things off.

At that point, I'd spent a solid four and a half years in two relationships, with only two weeks of downtime between them. All of a sudden I was rather enjoying the single life, and teamed with another newly single friend of mine decided to really enjoy life without the weight of these shitty choices of girlfriends around our necks. As such, that meant going out drinking a lot and meeting new people. For the most part, we kept things tame, but one night towards the end of our escapades stands out in particular for all the wrong reasons.

I had completed 2009 with the most man-points out of any of us, most earned ultimately on drinking 30 shots worth of various spirits in the space of an hour, and then adding about another 8 in the hour following that. The night disappeared after that first hour, but I do know that in winning those man-points I ended up sexually harassing one of my best friends in the park, then finding myself alone as snow fell down all around me. I somehow got home and passed out before midnight arrived, and my friends scaled my fence to peer into my house to see if I was alright.

Man-points carried over briefly into 2010, but we didn't do much creatively with them. On this night in particular, Alex and I had already downed quite a few cans of Strongbow at my house and were reasonably pissed. Karl joined us about forty minutes in, armed with drink of his own, and after a relatively brief pub stay we ended up flitting about town, pub-to-pub and also pub-to-house as I picked up yet more Strongbow.

The three of us perched on one of the benches outside the local church past midnight, Alex was eyeing the floodlights illuminating the fucker for the world to see - albeit with a rather unfocused, dim view of things.

"I'll offer 25 man-points to anyone who headbutts the floodlight," he said.

Fair enough, thinks I, and I trot off and give it a little headbutt. Karl does the same, we earn a fair few man-points for nothing in particular, then Alex decided to show us how it was done. He crouched down in front of it, then proceeded to slam his face against the glass of the floodlight repeatedly. When he turned around, the floodlight was now pressed flat against the ground, no longer raised at an angle, and Alex had also cut a fat hole in the centre of his forehead which was pissing blood down his face. As we discovered later, he should've immediately got it stitched up. He now sports a rather nice scar.

We took him back to mine to clean up, which drunkenly ultimately ended with more blood spread across his face, and then we wandered to the park. Getting steadily more pissed, now armed with vodka and a rather large bottle of coke to mix it with. Before long our favourite fast-food place called out to us with the promise of a delicious chicken wrap. Its allure too great to resist, we headed back downtown, and through the churchyard once more.

It was getting on for about 2am and everywhere was fucking empty at this point. In his drunken haze, Alex had a great idea. There are two entrances to the church, and these are blocked off with gates before the main entrance doors. Alex scaled the gates giggling and pissed up against the door. From the other side, Karl and I watched, alternately laughing and looking about ourselves in case anyone passed. They didn't, Alex hauled ass out of there, job done.

Alex was always doing the really funny stuff while we were drunk, but this time I was determined I would one-up him. So, with Karl's help, I scaled the gate, went up to the entrance doors to the church and did something I'm not proud of.

I pulled down my trousers and boxers, squatted down and took a fat, messy shit in the entrance of the church. There was no way it could be missed in the morning. It was foul. Consistency like chocolate porridge, it was like some rank cowpat dropped for the morning's congregation, staring up at them like a big shitty eye.

I pulled my trousers up, hopped over the fence, giggling to myself but at the same time shame already kicking in. I had won, however. Briefly.

In the time I took taking a shit, Alex had spotted one of those big tomb-like grave things that stands almost as tall as a person, more like a scaled-down stone shed than anything. This was railed all the way about by an iron fence, and Alex somehow managed to climb over and into the enclosure. On top of this grave was a great stone lid, four or five inches thick at least, and he placed his hands underneath and began to push.

It can't have been some brute strength, as the thing must've been fucked by years of weathering I'm sure. Either way, the lid shifted and then fragmented, raining down in fat bits, leaving a gaping wound looking into the interior of this grave. Karl and I freaked, and began reaching through the bars to help Alex try to fix this rocky jigsaw, but it was too late. The damage was done, and try as we might we couldn't repair it.

Alex hoisted himself out of there and we scarpered. The next day, the church had been opened as normal, and as I walked by and peered in, the shit was gone: undoubtedly cleaned up by whichever poor fucker had arrived and stumbled upon (hopefully not literally) the rancid contents of my guts.

The grave, however, was a tattered mess, lid not quite all replaced, hole peeking into this poor man's final resting place. I don't think it's ever been fixed. I wish beyond belief that it's because no one has noticed yet.

Fingers are still crossed.
(ratthingbazzterd, Sat 9 Oct 2010, 1:24, 9 replies)

so you and your pals got drunk, deliberately shit on the floor of a church, and desecrated graves just to try and "one up" each other?
Classy.
(Poppet some assembly required., Sat 9 Oct 2010, 8:39, closed)

Strongbow or not
you're a bit of a cock
(shinypurplebit booked his tickets (yay) on, Sat 9 Oct 2010, 9:17, closed)

yes
it would seem so. As I said, I'm not proud of it, and Karl and I were both disgusted at Alex fucking up the grave and tried getting him out of there before he did anything. I think Alex still finds it funny, but I certainly didn't find that funny for a minute and haven't managed to find the funny side in the intervening 8 months or so.
(ratthingbazzterd, Sat 9 Oct 2010, 9:27, closed)

That's because there isn't one, you helmet.

( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Sat 9 Oct 2010, 9:35, closed)

The Blue Peter Garden
That was you wasn't it?

But seriously, you're a bell end.
(hairybuddha, Sat 9 Oct 2010, 10:09, closed)

All a bit harsh isn't it?
There are plenty of stories of people being twats in this QOTW, why pick on this one? Desecrating a grave is way beyond the mark, but he didn't do it. What's the difference between shitting in front of a church and shitting on someones doorstep? Both are reprehensible, but the same thing in my opinion.

The poster seems to be in his early 20's and has recently done some very stupid things while pissed right up. He knows they were stupid, and seems to feel some regret. It's called growing up.

No doubt if I met him, I would think he's a twat- the whole idea of man points gives the game away- but a lot of people that age are idiots. I know I was.

The only unforgivable thing here is strongbow. WTF? Stowford press or Thatchers FTW.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Sat 9 Oct 2010, 11:51, closed)

Not picking, just saying,
Anyway, isnt the Strongbow the only bit that is defensible?
(shinypurplebit booked his tickets (yay) on, Sun 10 Oct 2010, 1:34, closed)

wow.

( Michael Ellis contributes nothing, Sun 10 Oct 2010, 11:38, closed)

You sirrah, are a cunt of the lowest order and were I in possesion of a horsewhip I would thrash you to within an inch of your miserable life.
Eight fucking months and you've not manned up enough to sort out your little desecration.
I hope someone grave robs your granny and does her up the dirtbox
Ps: did I call you a cunt yet?
(evilneb nothing to see here, move along.., Mon 11 Oct 2010, 20:33, closed)